


The Cat

by azriona



Series: Advent Calendar Drabbles 2014 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Calendar Drabble, Animagus, F/M, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2712257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is the cleverest witch of her age.  That doesn’t mean she can’t make mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindahoyland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindahoyland/gifts).



> The third installment of the Advent Calendar Drabbles, and the first from Harry Potter. All drabbles are titled with the prompt. Today’s prompt is from lindahoyland, and also included Hermione and Professor McGonagall. I don’t usually get Advent Calendar Drabbles beta’ed (since they’re really meant to be flash fiction of a sort), but drinkingcocoa was kind enough to give this a peek, since she’s more familiar with the HP voices than I am these days.

Hermione Granger-Weasley knew that most witches and wizards saw her use of the Tube to go to and from work every day as nothing more than a curious affectation. Floo powder was cheap and plentiful and much, much quicker, after all.

But Hermione liked the daily reminder that there was a world beyond magic, and that once, she’d been part of it. Besides, the twenty minutes she spent on the Bakerloo line every day was sometimes the only time she had to herself, and she wasn’t going to give those precious twenty minutes up for anything.

If using the Tube at all was an affectation, then walking home from the station was simply good sense, and as much as Hermione enjoyed her twenty minutes on the train, she liked the five-minute walk even more, particularly on the nice days when the sun shone and there was a breeze. (On excessively rainy days, she sometimes nipped into the nearby newsagent’s and found a quiet corner in which to Disapparate.) 

Today was a lovely day, and so Hermione walked, and that is how she saw the cat, and that is how the entire mess began: all because she insisted on her twenty minutes of Muggleness in the world, or so Ron liked to remind her afterwards.

Then, it was as much Ron’s fault as it was hers, reflected Hermione afterwards, and certainly he didn’t mind the outcome in the least, judging by the number of squeaky toys he brought home in his coat pockets.

*

On the day on which our story begins, Hermione was walking home from the Tube, her mind concentrating on the problem of Rose’s upcoming birthday (family only, hosted at the Burrow, with a cake supplied by Hermione’s mother who would insist on only healthy, sugar-free ingredients); Ron’s current argument with the neighbors (magical treehouses didn’t require physical supports, of course, but surely putting one or two up for show would pacify them to some extent); Harry’s perplexing problem of what to do with his cousin Dudley (high time he move off Harry’s sofa; there were some lovely little studio flats down in Wadsworth, if Harry presented it as a fait accompli, surely Dudley would be grateful to dispense with the bother); and Neville’s dilemma over whether or not he should accept the position at Hogwarts (of course he should, Hermione had no idea why he was dithering about it). 

She almost didn’t notice the cat.

Hermione didn’t notice cats, as a rule. Crookshanks had gone to where all good cats eventually go (her parents’ house, because magical or not, Crookshanks knew the benefits of a childfree house when he saw one). Hermione had been so distraught at the decampment that she had refused all offers of a replacement cat.

Replacement cat, indeed!

This cat, however, could not possibly be an ordinary cat. Had it been on ground-level, Hermione would have not noticed it at all, but it was walking on the top of the wall that ran along the pavement, and thus was at eye-level. Further, it was walking with purpose, thought what that purpose was, or its destination, was a little bit tricky to say. Whatever the reason, it was clear that the cat had someone quite important on its mind, and was disinclined to let anything get in its way: particularly the dog on the other side of the wall, who seemed intent on barking the poor creature deaf. 

But more than that – Hermione thought she recognized the sort of tabby coat, mostly black but with bits of grey all over, and strangely enough, square markings around its eyes, almost as if it was wearing spectacles. 

Hermione saw the cat and stopped quite dead in her tracks. 

Perhaps it was because the cat was walking with such purpose. Perhaps it was because she’d only just been thinking of Hogwarts, and all associated memories with it. Perhaps it was because (as Ron liked to imagine) that she still saw the world a bit as a Muggle encountering magic for the first time, and believing it to be everywhere.

Or perhaps it was because the cat stopped when Hermione’s eyes landed on it, and paused in its journey. It looked at her a bit impatiently, as if more surprised by the approach of a human than the fury of a dog, and narrowed its eyes before it sat down primly on the wall, its tail curling behind it, as if it expected Hermione to speak.

So Hermione did.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Hermione calmly. “Lovely night.”

The cat regarded her for a moment, sneezed, and without so much as a meow, stood and kept on its original path, flicking its tail behind it. 

Rude! thought Hermione, and didn’t think anymore about it. Though she did mention it to Ron just before bed.

“But that’s ridiculous – if it’d been McGonagall, she would have transformed and spoken to you, wouldn’t she?”

“On a Muggle street, Ron?” asked Hermione. “Besides, it looked as if she was in the middle of something very important, I wonder if….” And she frowned, deep in thought, but not so deep that she didn’t hear Ron’s familiar sigh of exasperation.

“Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was just a cat.”

Somehow, Ron’s dismissal solidified her suspicion, and Hermione resolved to look up the particulars of McGongall’s Transfigured form the very next day. 

*

It was a week before she saw the cat again, this time sitting quite primly on the wall, just where Hermione had seen it last. It wasn’t doing any normal cat things: it wasn’t grooming, or stretched out in the feeble sun, or even in the position Hermione thought of as a “kitty loaf”. No, it was sitting up, as neatly as you please, staring down the pavement until it saw Hermione coming.

Hermione saw the cat and beamed: the markings were almost exactly as they were described in the official register. Ron might have been lovely with Rose and a terribly good cook when he paid attention, but he had no imagination whatsoever.

“Hello, Professor,” said Hermione cheerfully as she passed, but didn’t stop to chat. If McGonagall wished to speak, she’d transform and do so.

Ron was playing with Rose in the garden when she got home.

“Hello, darling,” cooed Hermione, dropping her bag on the tiny bench they kept there. 

“Hello to you, too,” said Ron.

“I was talking to Rose.”

“Kitty!” squealed Rose, which was how Hermione realized she’d been followed by Professor McGonagall, still in cat form. Rose reached out for the cat, as excited as any small girl would have been when presented with a cat, and Professor McGonagall, perhaps knowing all too well about children, sat just out of reach, her tail flicking back and forth.

Ron stared at the cat for a moment. “Cor, that does look like her, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it’s her,” said Hermione. “Would a perfectly ordinary cat have followed me home just because I’d said hello?”

“Kitty!” squealed Rose again, and reached so hard that she tipped over and landed on her nose before bursting into tears.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Hermione, and picked up her daughter to carry her inside. “Professor, do come in for some tea!”

“She scarpered, love, the minute Rose started yelling.” Ron grinned. “Definitely not McGonagall, she would have just transformed and given Rose the shock of her life.”

And then Ron started to snicker.

“That would have really sent Rose caterwauling. Caterwauling. Eh?”

Hermione sighed and shook her head, and tapped Rose’s nose with her wand.

*

Professor McGonagall began making regular appearances after that – though only ever in cat form. Hermione couldn’t make up her mind about her – whether or not she was actually the professor. For one thing, it was very much unlike the professor to not transform back into a human, and it wasn’t as though the professor had any real reason to visit them, so perhaps it was a cat.

Then again, the cat had a very odd way of looking down its nose at Hermione, exactly as if she was waiting for her to start explaining why exactly she had thought it was a good idea to wander down to the girls’ bathroom outside of Gryffindor Tower when there was an troll loose in the school.

Cats might have been full of themselves, but none of them had quite mastered that particular look. 

“Hullo, Professor,” said Hermione when she arrived home from work about two weeks after the entire business began. “Would you like to stay for supper? I’ve got a lovely fillet of salmon here.”

“Merr,” said the cat imperiously, and jumped down from the bench and trotted to the front door.

Dinner was ready just as Ron came in with Rose, who immediately spotted the cat sitting on the counter near the stove, supervising Hermione as she cooked.

“Kitty!” squealed Rose, and reached for the cat.

“Professor McGonagall again?” asked Ron. “Is there an assignment you forgot to turn in, Hermione?”

“Oh, hush,” said Hermione. “And no, I think I turned in too many, really.”

“How could you tell?”

“Professor McGonagall is staying for dinner,” said Hermione.

“As a cat or a human?”

Hermione glanced at the cat, but she was sitting quite primly where she’d jumped up on the counter, her tail waving as in a slow breeze.

“Her choice,” allowed Hermione, and set the table for dinner.

*

It was a month later when things came to a head.

Oddly enough, this happened because of a head. 

More specifically, a head that appeared in the fireplace, which despite Hermione’s insistence on using the Tube, was in fact connected to the Floo Network.

“Molly! Molly Weasley!”

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and Hermione had just come in from outside when she heard the voice calling from the living room, and as they’d only just come home themselves from The Burrow, she was momentarily confused why anyone would be Flooing her mother-in-law in London.

“Just a moment,” she called, and set her things down on the counter before going into the living room to see the familiar face in the fire. “Oh – Professor McGonagall!”

Minerva McGonagall’s face looked momentarily surprised. “Oh, dear, the flames must be crossed. I didn’t think this looked much like The Burrow.”

“No, I’m sorry, just me and Ron. But we only got home an hour ago, and I’ve been expecting a call from work, so we’d forwarded the Floo – I suppose the spells were mixed up when we tried to undo it.”

“Apparently,” said the professor. “Quite sorry to disturb you, I’ll try reaching her another way.”

“That’s all right, I did want to ask you – the halibut the other night, you didn’t want to touch it, and I wasn’t sure if you’ve gone off it or you preferred the salmon?”

Professor McGonagall stared at Hermione for a long moment.

“Pardon?”

“The halibut. I might have accidentally sprinkled it with lemon juice, though – I wasn’t sure if you could handle that in cat form.”

“Hermione,” said the professor slowly, “what in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

And just then, there was a quiet, “Merr,” from the opposite side of the room.

When Hermione looked, there was the cat, standing in the doorway, its tail swishing gently back and forth.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open just as Ron walked into the room behind it, carrying Rose.

“Oh, you’re back, did you find the salmon for the professor, she’s been yowling all afternoon.” And then noting the face in the fireplace: “Hullo, Professor McGonagall, nice of you to Floo—“

Ron stopped, his foot in midair, and then his head whipped back and forth between the professor in the fireplace and the cat in the doorway. “I…but…ah….cat….Floo…salmon!”

Professor McGonagall leaned out of the fireplace just a bit, and looked curiously at the cat in the doorway. “Interesting,” she said thoughtfully. “A bit tricky to see properly with the flames, but I must say, those markings are quite familiar. Though, I’ve only ever seen them in pictures of course.”

“But…er….ah….we….see….”

“You’re welcome to come over for dinner sometime to get a closer look,” said Hermione meekly. 

“I would be delighted,” said Professor McGonagall. “Though not fish, please. I detest the stuff.”

“Right,” said Hermione. “Chicken.”

“Lovely. Though I do have to ask – does the feline have a career in education?”

“No…..”

“Then please stop referring to it as ‘professor’. Rather demeaning, I should think.”

“We thought—“

“Clearly. I assure you, however, that is a perfectly normal cat.”

“Merr,” said the cat, and it sounded exasperated, as if it had been trying to explain this all along and why a human would believe a face in the flames before it would believe a cat sitting in the same room was completely beyond its comprehension.

“We’ll find another name,” said Hermione quickly.

“Nonsense. I dare say worse creatures have been named for me. And Ron – do close your mouth.”

“Thursday?” asked Hermione.

“Looking forward to it,” said the professor, and Hermione wasn’t sure if her mouth was quirking, or if that was just the flames.


End file.
